Truly Angelic!
by WhisperElmwood
Summary: HarryDraco-HarryKrum mentioned - After a rather amusing accident with a very simple spell, Harry ends up in St Mungos's Hospital, guess who he meets there? INCOMPLETE WIP


Truly Angelic!  
  
Harry Potter, twenty-two years old, hero of the wizarding world two times over, Order of Merlin First Class and Junior Member of the Wizengamot stood in the middle of his living-room and swore at himself.  
  
"Bugger."  
  
Harry Potter, twenty-two years old, hero of the wizarding world two times over, Order of Merlin First Class and Junior Member of the Wizengamot had just utterly botched, somehow, one of the simplest spells he knew.  
  
"Bollocks! I cannot be-lieve this!"  
  
His shirt lay tattered on the floor around his feet and two or three of his possessions were lying on the floor boards in pieces, there were also feathers everywhere and an explosively searing pain in his back. He angrily flicked his wand at the broken vases and ornaments that had been knocked off various shelves, repairing them in a second and setting them once more in their accustomed places.  
  
He was extremely annoyed. For some reason, a very simple levitation spell, something he'd used thousands of times before, and that he'd been trying to use now to lift himself to replace the muggle light-bulb, had resulted in giving him enormous, pure black, feathery wings. He folded his arms, ruffling the feathers slightly in his annoyance, in a way highly reminiscent of his late owl, Hedwig, without realizing it, and glared at his reflection in the large mirror hanging over the mantelpiece.  
  
"Ok, ok. Let's figure this out." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, under his glasses, with thumb and forefinger, briefly closing his eyes as he tried to figure out what had gone wrong and how to fix it. "Finite Incantatum?" He flicked his wand, a little irritably, but nothing happened. "No? Ok, how about this, Yamu Tsuzuru!" Again, nothing happened. Didn't like the Japanese version then. Or the French, German or Bulgarian, he found after a few moments of thought to remember them.  
  
If he had been the Prima Donna most people thought he was, he'd have stamped a foot in frustration by now, instead, he simply sighed and wracked his brain for anything that may help. He steadily worked his way through every spell, charm and hex he could think of to get rid of the bloody things, but nothing worked, not even the handful of forbidden banishing spells, charms and hexes he knew.  
  
Eventually, after an exhausting hour or so, he tried to slump into his sofa, but the wings got in the way and knocked his lamp over.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell!" He really needed to get a handle of these things. Concentrating carefully, he managed to figure out that the wings really were just like a second pair of arms and didn't need much more than basic thought to control them. He folded them back and finally managed to sit down.  
  
He dropped his face into his hands and sighed.  
  
What was he going to do? He'd done everything he could think of, even tried a few things he wasn't, legally, supposed to know about, now what? He couldn't very well spend the rest of his natural life with bloody great wings! He'd never be able to show his face in the muggle world again, and his fellow witches and wizards were likely to laugh at him wherever he went.  
  
Perhaps Hermione would know what to do?  
  
It didn't take long for him to call her over, and even less time for him to explain exactly what had happened. He sat almost meekly between Ron and Hermione Weasley, hoping against hope that the trainee Medi-Witch would be able to help. Ron was quite openly admiring the jet black plumage and kept poking at it, as if to see whether the wings really were attached.  
  
He stopped only when Harry suddenly moved one out of the way with a quick jerking movement and said, "Would you stop? That bleedin itches." He batted Ron's hand away, irritably and the red-head grinned, throwing his hands up, dropping a feather he had been fiddling with. Hermione, holding a sleeping baby with hair as red as its fathers in her arms, stifled a giggle.  
  
Harry wrinkled his nose as Ron apologized with the familiar 'Sorry, mate' without looking at all repentant. Indeed, he looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.  
  
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, Harry," Hermione said, a little remorsefully, "You're going to have to go to St Mungo's; they'll know what to do."  
  
* * * *  
  
Which was how he found himself standing in a double long-stay room in the closed ward of St Mungo's hospital. He had spent most of the day on the fourth floor being poked and prodded by various Medi-wizards and witches trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He had also been ogled at by many of the trainee's and could, by now, see the bloody Daily Prophet headlines tomorrow morning.  
  
'Potter, Truly Angelic!'  
  
Urgh.  
  
He flopped; face down, on the bed he'd been told would be his until he got rid of the wings and lay there contemplating the effects of that stupid mishap back home. After a while he began to wonder who the other occupant of this room was. All the Medi-Wizards had told him was that they had been here for a long time and were used to having the space to themselves. He'd also been told that the only reason he was put in this bed was because there were no others, the place was full.  
  
Remembering the first time he'd seen the Long-stay ward when he was fifteen, he rather uncharitably hoped his new room mate would at least be easy on the eyes. Or still speak English. And not malt everywhere.  
  
Thinking about it, he remembered that first visit here again. He remembered seeing a harassed looking father holding the ankle of his rather young daughter as she flapped around his head like an oddly shaped balloon on enormous feathery wings of her own. He wondered, rather absently, how long they had taken to get rid of the wings. Had they, perhaps, had as much trouble as he?  
  
Ugh. He tried to roll over and was quickly reminded of why he couldn't. "Ow!" In a flurry of feathers and bed sheets he fell to the floor between the two beds, "Oh, bleedin bloody bollocks!"  
  
"Not an image I would have liked to have described to me before going to bed, Potter."  
  
Harry stuck his head up over the top of the bed and blinked at the figure just coming through the door, "Malfoy?!" He scrambled to get himself untangled from the bed sheets and stood up.  
  
The blond rolled his eyes, "What gave it away? My impeccably good looks? Perhaps the dulcet tones of my voice, missed by you these five years passed?"  
  
Harry's eyes narrowed almost against his will as the Slytherin stalked gracefully past him, neatly folded clothes over one arm, "I have not missed your voice, but far be it for me to shatter your dreams. What the hell are you doing here anyway?" He continued in more normal tones as he looked the slim figure over, checking for any obvious signs of some kind of magical damage that would keep him in the long-stay.  
  
"Living, believe it or not." Malfoy gave him a critical look and he became rather aware of the fact that he wasn't wearing anything above the waist. He folded his arms across his chest, fighting the blush and Malfoy grinned. "It's a good look for you, you should keep them."  
  
"Oh, bugger off." He turned and grabbed the fallen bed-linen, remaking the bed and ignoring his old school rival, doing his best to keep the feathery protuberances out of his way. When sitting down with one of the books Ron had packed for him from his home, his left wing caught the light stand, "Dang and blast it!" He dropped the book and caught the lamp before it hit the ground.  
  
He sighed and caught Malfoy's eye. The other man was sitting in his own bed, one eyebrow raised, a smirk playing on his lips. After a moment, the blond turned a page of his book and turned away, obviously fighting a full smirk of amusement.  
  
* * * *  
  
Three days later and he still had the wings. But on the up side, he was getting used to sharing a room with Malfoy, though he was sorely missing his television. He had a thing about keeping up with not only the wizarding news, but also the muggle, so the loss of a television was highly annoying.  
  
Thankfully, Hermione had dropped by this morning with a newspaper.  
  
He slumped in the chair by his bed, carefully folding the now much better controlled wings over the low back of it and flicked the paper open. Hermione had also dropped off what she called a 'halter neck' top. It looked mainly like a waistcoat with no back, just a simple band of cloth over the small of his back. So, now he could wander around without getting embarrassed at his bare chest, it was quite enough with the wings.  
  
He just wished he had sleeves.  
  
By time he finished the paper, Malfoy was coming back into the room again. So far he hadn't seen the blond man wearing anything other than a very neat emerald green dressing gown, this afternoon, though, he seemed to be wearing a very fetching robe of pale blue. He raised both eyebrows, "Where are you going?"  
  
"None of your business, Potter," was the amiable reply, "I've already been, anyway." With that, he pulled the robe over his head and dumped it on the end of his bed. Under the robe he was wearing what appeared to be a tailored suit. "Is that a muggle paper? I see the photographs aren't moving." He motioned toward the paper as he unbuttoned his shirt.  
  
"Yup," he threw the paper over and it landed, thankfully still folded, on Malfoy's bed. The blond dropped his shirt on top of the robes and picked the paper up, "Anything interesting?"  
  
Harry stretched, unconsciously unfolding his wings at the same time, "Nope. The usual, people being killed, people being sued, cats or dogs saving the day, Politicians visiting people who don't really care...." Malfoy smirked slightly, "Rather cynical of you, Potter, I'm surprised at you."  
  
"I prefer to think of myself as 'sarcastically realistic'." That was the reply he often gave to his friends whenever they mentioned the same thing, but Malfoy surprised him by saying something more, "I suppose it's rather hard to come out the other side and not be at least a little cynical. At least you admit it."  
  
There was a moment's pause, in which Malfoy looked thoughtful and Harry stared at him, "In a roundabout way, at any rate."  
  
Well, that was surprising. Malfoy understood him? Well, he could strike that one up as a first. He half watched as Malfoy changed into his day robe, draped the, by now familiar, dressing gown over it all and then sat delicately on his bed with the paper.  
  
* * * *  
  
An entire week in the bloody hospital and the Medi-wizards and witches were still no closer to figuring out how to rid him of the wings than they were when he first came in. He was beginning to think he'd have to live with the damn things for the rest of his life. He was also beginning to get more and more curious as to what exactly it was that was keeping Malfoy in the long- stay ward.  
  
He had spent most of the day once again being poked and prodded by Medi- people and was feeling more than irritable when he finally got back to the room. He glanced at Malfoy, who was sitting quietly by the spelled window (currently showing a rather twee looking sunset beyond the London city- scape) reading a book, and ambled to his bed. Without saying a word, he flopped face down and just lay there.  
  
"Bad day?" Malfoy sounded amused.  
  
"Bugger off, Malfoy."  
  
There was a snort of suppressed laughter and he looked up. To his surprise, his wings had folded themselves over his body in such a way that he was almost completely obscured from view. With a sigh, he reached up and brushed some feathers out of his eyes and looked at the blond man who was now sat smirking at him, the book he had been reading, laying closed on his lap. "What?"  
  
Malfoy shrugged, "I just find you highly amusing. In all our years at Hogwarts, I never thought you could be quite so," he appeared to search for the right word, "Charming."  
  
Harry dropped his head back onto his pillow and narrowed his eyes at the other man for a while. Eventually, when Malfoy had smirked and picked up his book again, he asked, "Why, exactly, are you here? I mean, here in St Mungo's, not here in this room, before you go off on one of your tangents. I mean, I haven't seen you for over five years, heard neither hide nor hair, and suddenly, here you are, living obviously quite happily, in St Mungo's Long-Stay ward."  
  
Malfoy put the book down again and gave Harry a searching kind of look. "You actually want to know about me?"  
  
Harry lifted himself onto his elbows and folded the wings back out of the way and shrugged slightly, "Yeah, why not?"  
  
Malfoy snorted again and rolled his eyes, "Of course, the boy has a short memory and thinks nothing of twelve years of animosity."  
  
Harry snorted in turn, "School boy bollocks, we are in our twenties now, you know. I haven't hated you since we left Hogwarts, barely even thought about you, too much going on back then to hold a stupid school yard grudge."  
  
Malfoy sat back, hooking one knee over the other and all but smiled, "Well, that says it all, doesn't it? I'm here because I booked myself in as a last resort." Harry blinked at the sudden change of subject, but lifted himself up further until he was sitting in the middle of his bed, feet dangling over one side, wings over the other. "Last resort?"  
  
"Oh yes. Being the son of Voldemorts right hand man really has its perks."  
  
Malfoy looked rather bitter as he said this, but Harry couldn't help saying, "But you spied for us! Dark Mark or no Dark Mark, I know that much. What the hell have you got to fear?"  
  
Malfoy gave a long suffering sigh, "Vigilantes and what's left of the Death Eaters, you dunce."  
  
Yeah, dunderhead. That had been so obvious he could have kicked himself, but he was interrupted from his internal kicking by Malfoy asking him, "What have you been up to these past five years? I see the only person who visits is Granger...."  
  
"What? Oh, Quidditch, I'm the Quidditch coach at Hogwarts. And she's not Granger now, she's Weasley and a very happy one at that, they've already got a daughter, Willow. Hair's as red as Ron's, of course."  
  
Malfoy blinked, looking quite comically surprised despite an obvious effort not to show it. Harry grinned, of course, if Malfoy had locked himself up in here for a while, he wouldn't have heard about the marriage. "Yes, everyone thought me and Hermione, but it was never going to happen. Firstly because she always loved Ron, secondly because, up until last year, I had a long term boyfriend."  
  
This time Malfoy lost all the internal battles and simply gaped at him, "Well, there's a turn up for the books. Boyfriend? Who?"  
  
Harry found he was quite enjoying this, there were very few people left in the wizarding community who didn't know he was as gay as a maypole; he quite missed the expressions it garnered when it finally sank in. "Promise you won't laugh?" He said with a grin, quite forgetting the bad day and the years of hatred between the two of them.  
  
Malfoy nodded, a mildly amused expression on his face now he had gotten over the shock.  
  
"Victor Krum. Most people laugh at that, but he's actually a very nice guy and we were together for four years." Harry cocked one eyebrow at the blond man sitting across from him. Malfoy looked a little less than stunned, a little more than simply shocked.  
  
"Victor Krum? That Bulgarian oaf?"  
  
Harry actually laughed out loud at that, it was something Ron had called the Bulgarian Seeker a few times, mostly when he wasn't around and nearly always when he was reminded of Victor's crush on Hermione in their fourth year at Hogwarts. It had been a sore point between the incredibly straight red-head and the slightly less than graceful Bi Bulgarian, right from the beginning of Harry's relationship with him.  
  
"Yes, 'that Bulgarian oaf.' We had a great few years together." He gave Malfoy a mischievous grin, but the blond seemed not to notice as he simply blinked and asked, "How the hell did that happen?"  
  
"Oh, we actually met during the war. He came back to England and joined us in the fight. We got talking, mostly about Quidditch at first, and it kind of just developed from there." He snorted gently, "Hermione was a lot jealous at first."  
  
* * * *  
  
After that conversation, things got steadily friendlier between the two of them. Though Harry still retained his annoying wings, and ranted about them, often, in colorful language, to whoever would listen.  
  
This invariably turned out to be Malfoy, who would offer the same sage advice every time, 'They suit you, keep them' with an annoying smirk. Which was, to say the very least, entirely unhelpful, in Harry's opinion. 


End file.
